Will It Break You?
by Athena Writer 24601
Summary: Peeta's gone into hijacking mode-for a few weeks. He's constantly trying to hurt Katniss. Can she stay strong and help him, or will the dead President Snow finally succeed in breaking her?
1. Chapter 1

Will It Break You?

Chapter One

Katniss' POV

The days pass by, and slowly Peeta and I grow back together. It's a slow and sometimes arduous process, but in the end I find it's worth it. We have dinner together every night. Sometimes Haymitch or Greasy Sae join us, but on most nights it's just us. We laugh and talk, and it's just like old times again.

There are some evenings that don't turn out as planned, but then everything doesn't always turn out as expected. Peeta will have flashbacks and then that's the end of our happy dinner. Mostly they're not violent-sometimes I can calm him down enough for him to snap out of it. Worst case, if that happens, he'll leave before he can hurt me and then stay home for a few days. He's afraid he'll hurt me. I understand this, but sometimes it's really painful when he's absent, when I sit alone at my kitchen table.

There's a few times when neither of us are able to calm the mutt-version of him, and he doesn't get home on time. He'll usually hit or shove me, screaming horrible things at me, accusing me of murdering his family. It's heartbreaking, and it's not really the physical pain that hurts the most. It's the fact that he hates me-even if it's not real and I know it.

One night, this happens. We're sitting at his kitchen table, laughing about something funny something that happened today when I was out in the forest.

"Let me get you some more water," I tell him, grabbing both of our glasses and walking to his fridge, turning away from him.

Usually, when I do this, he'll thank me or say something to me. So it's unusual when it's silent.

"Peeta?" I hear a crash and whirl around. He's thrown his plate to the ground, his eyes darkening.

"What, so you can poison me?" he snarls, lunging forward and pushing me, hard. The water glasses slip out of my hands and shatter on the floor, making me slip. My hands reach to brace my fall, and I cry out as they slam into the floor, into the glass.

"Peeta, it's not real," I say, struggling to get up. "Snap out of it!"

"Shut up, mutt!" he yells, slapping me across the face. I crumble back to the ground as he lunges at me, his fingers wrapping around my throat.

I gag as he squeezes, trying to crush my windpipe. I desperately try to pry his fingers away from my neck, but his grip is like iron.

"P-Peeta," I choke out. "Please..."

His eyes are so dark it's scary. But perhaps some part inside of him, the merciful fraction of the real Peeta that's fighting against the hijacking, makes him let go.

I curl up on the floor, retching and massaging my throat, gasping in air. My throat will undoubtedly be bruised, but not to the point that I need to be hospitalized like the first time he attempted to kill me during the rebellion.

He lands a punch to my ribs, and a strangled cry escapes me as I struggle to sit upright.

"You'd better leave before I kill you, mutt," he growls.

I back slowly towards the door as he death-glares at me. I wait for his eyes to turn back to blue, for the darkness to fade. They're not supposed to stay black, are they?

He lunges towards me again, and I yelp and sprint out the door, wincing from the pain in my side. But I don't stop until I reach my door, wrenching it open and rushing upstairs. I slam my room door and slump onto my bed, tears leaking from my eyes. What's wrong with him? He _never _stays that horrible, not ever. He can always control it or snap out of it before it gets bad enough.

After wiping my tears away and reluctantly taking a shower, I crawl back into bed. Fortunately none of the glass stuck in my hands, but they're still bleeding and in pain. My breathing's fragile and slow; any sudden intake of air causes a horrible echo of pain. It hurts to talk.

I am finally able to fall asleep, but wish I hadn't. My slumber is filled with graphic images; Peeta killing me in numerous different ways. His eyes are dark, like they were at dinner. In one, he's strangling me, but then Prim runs in calling my name. I miss her; she's been dead, after all. So I call her name, and Peeta turns on her, stabbing and beating her as she screams.

"Prim!" I shriek, sitting up in the darkness of my room. I rub my eyes, trying to erase the image of Prim's small, limp body that's burned into the back of my eyes. My already-injured throat is raw from screaming. I can only hope Peeta didn't hear me. Maybe he has snapped out of it by now, though. He should.

The days go by, and I don't see him at all. My bruises and injuries just get worse, and I'm grateful Sae doesn't come and that Haymitch is too drunk to care. I don't want either one of them involved.

I don't eat. I'm too lonely, and worried, so I sit around and do nothing, sort of like after the rebellion when I was sent home. Almost a week goes by, and I've only drank a little water and no food. I feel really weak and tired.

Finally, I can't take it anymore. I pull a jacket on, manage to make myself look decent, and head over to Peeta's house.

Normally, he would be baking, but he's not. Instead he sits on the couch, fists clenched. Has he been fighting against the tracker jacker venom the whole week?

Apparently so. As soon as I creak his door open, he whirls around and scowls. "I thought I told you to _leave_, you filthy mutt."

Tears sting my eyes. Why won't he wake up? Why can't he see how much pain he's causing me?

"I'm not a mutt, Peeta," I say, my voice shaky.

He laughs dryly. "Sure. Bet that's what everyone else thinks, too. But you killed my family. You killed everyone, you stupid mutt! Your sister and your father are dead because of you, and your mother hates you for it, and so do I!"

I notice my cheeks are wet, and he must see it too, because he mocks me even more. "Are you crying, mutt? I thought you had no feelings, the way you let your sister die-"

"Stop it!" I scream. "Don't talk about Prim!"

Without warning, Peeta grabs a huge book off his bookshelf and throws it. It hits me in the head, unsuspected, and I stumble as he slams me on the floor. My head hits the floor with a crack, and I cry out in pain.

I scramble to my feet and am rewarded with a hard punch to the jaw, which is soon followed by a punch to the eye. I scream and stumble towards the door.

I run, sobbing, to Haymitch's house. Maybe he'll know what to do. Shockingly, he's sober today-which means he's much nicer than usual.

He looks surprised as I dash in the door and sit on his couch. He takes in my bruises and cuts, my disheveled state, and my tears, and puts and arm around me. This is one of the rare times when he's actually nice.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asks. "That boy again?"

I nod silently, then say, "I don't know what's wrong with him. He won't get over a flashback-he's still acting all hijacked."

"When did this start?"

"About a week ago."

Haymitch looks disturbed. "He did this to you?" he says, gesturing to my injuries.

"Mmm hmm."

Haymitch stands abruptly and leaves, storming out the door. I can tell by the direction he turns that he's going to Peeta's house. I choose not to follow him-a wise decision, I think, because at the moment Peeta will not hesitate to kill me.

A few minutes later, Haymitch walks back in, scowling. "Seems you're right, sweetheart," he tells me. "Even _I _couldn't snap him out of it."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. But when do you think...?"

Haymitch sighs. "Give him time, sweetheart. He'll come around eventually."

"Eventually can be a long time," I mutter as I stand, still not quite happy with this conclusion.

As I near the door, he calls, "Sweetheart, you may want to eat something. It ain't gonna help get that boy back to normal if you look like a skeleton."

"Whatever." And I shut the door behind me.

I have even more nightmares that night, worse than the last ones. I sit in bed, shivering, wishing desperately that Peeta was here to hold me, to comfort me. I miss his strong arms, wrapped around me. I cry myself back to sleep and am grateful when the sun rises.

In the morning, I go into the bathroom to wash the leftover tears from my stiff face, and then realize my face is badly bruised. My jaw is dark and sore, and my eye is swollen, red and purple. I trudge downstairs and ice them both, then ice my head, which is pounding from how hard Peeta slammed it into the floor.

I sit at the table, trying to decide what to do. It's nearly an hour later when I realize how scattered my thoughts are, and the way my head hurts.

I stagger to the bathroom, dizzy, and turn the lights on, staring at my reflection. My pupils were enlarged...wasn't that a sign of a concussion? I try to think about my mother's patients over the years, but it's hard.

I feel like I did after Johanna Mason bashed in my head with that pipe during the Quarter Quell...dizzy, confused, scatter-brained.

Somehow, I manage to wander over to Haymitch's house. I'm glad to see he's sober again; perhaps after he found out what happened last night he decided being drunk wasn't a very good state to be in.

"Haymitch, I...I think have a concussion.

He sighs. "Again?"

"Afraid so."

He looks in my eyes and nods. "Most likely. I'll call your mother in a little while, though."

"Okay." I sit on his couch, rubbing my temples against the headache.

Time passes quickly. I'm a bit zoned out, so I don't even notice Haymitch is on the phone with my mother until he hangs up and says, "Yup, sweetheart. You've got another concussion. It's pretty bad, but it's not as bad as before. Your mother said to just do that mental exercise like before, whatever that means, and try to rethink what you are about to do so you don't do anything rash."

I nod, standing to leave. "Thanks, Haymitch."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

I suppose this would've annoyed me, him continually calling me sweetheart like in the Games, but I'm too out of it to care.

That night, I only have one dream. It's a flashback, I'm sitting talking to Prim. I remember this conversation.

"What do you think they'll do to him?" I say, afraid to know the answer. Through the dream, my voice sounds strange and distant. I'm standing off to the side, thought, watching them.

She looks at me, the same too-old, knowledgeable look on her face as she says honestly, "Whatever it takes to break you."


	2. Chapter 2

Will It Break You?

Chapter 2

The next morning I wake up in cold sweat, panting. Somehow this dream is even more chilling and horrible than my usual bout of nightmares.

_"Whatever it takes to break you." _It echoes in my head over and over, driving me to the brink of insanity. I'm so overwhelmed and panicked that I have to stop in the middle of my morning walk through the woods to sit down and sort out my thoughts.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. I have a concussion. Peeta gave me that concussion because he's completely hijacked and keeps trying to kill me. It would be better if he killed me, though, because living without him doesn't have much value. It would be better for everyone if I was dead. _

I try eating something, but there's hardly anything in the pantry and I don't feel like eating anything. If Peeta were his normal, sweet self, he would make me bread or a pastry and gently get me to eat it. But in the state he is now, it's likely he'd either poison me or try to choke me with it. So I go hungry yet again.

I'm not sure how, but before I know it nearly two weeks have passed. The first set of bruises aren't as sore, but you can still see them.

I finally go back upstairs and change clothes, tossing them in the corner of my bed. I throw on a clean pair of hunting pants and a green, fitted shirt. I slip my jacket on and examine myself in the mirror. Once, my father's jacket was a little large. Now it hangs around my body as I tuck my shirt in and grab my bow. Perhaps I can find something for Sae to cook.

After two peaceful hours in the woods, I finally find a small flock of quail and am able to bring down three fat ones. I load them in my hunting bag and am about to head back when I hear a branch snap sharply behind me.

The footsteps are too heavy to be that of an animal, even a wild dog. I turn quickly and jump as Peeta lunges through the foliage, his eyes dark yet again.

"Peeta-" I start, but cut off as he raises a large rock, a murderous look of hatred on his face.

"Shut up, mutt." he growls.

I turn and sprint off as fast as I can. I hear Peeta's curses as he runs after me, tripping over branches. If I wasn't running for my life it would be slightly comical, because he is awful at navigating through the forest. However, it is nothing but scary as he tramples after me.

I exit the forest and run through town to Victor's Village. It must look quite odd, as Peeta's screaming at me and I'm running faster than I ever remember. I'm running as fast as I did when the mutts were chasing us, during our first Games. Really, there's not much different. A hijacked Peeta is basically a mutt. Sent to kill me, he'll stop at nothing.

As I arrive at my house, I drop my game bag on the counter for Sae to find and cook if she visits today-hopefully Peeta won't try to kill her, either. Sae's a nice old woman and she doesn't really deserve that.

I sit on my bed and realize something; even though he's dead, even though he's been dead for nearly a year, President Snow still succeeded. As Prim said, he did whatever would break me. And he succeeded. He broke me. I don't know what to do now that Peeta's been taken from me again.

I hear a tremendous crash from downstairs. There goes my front door. Add that to the list of things Peeta's going to feel horrible about when he wakes up.

If he does.

I'm interrupted from my thoughts as Peeta throws my bedroom door open and I jump up. "Peeta-"

"Quit saying my name like that, mutt! Like you've _never _done anything bad. _Peeta, Peeta, Peeta,_" he mocks, shoving me into my dresser. I cry out and try to get away, but he pushes me on my bed before I can react and presses a pillow onto me with unbelievable force and strength.

I can't breathe. I'm screaming and thrashing around, but he just pins me down and laughs. "I'm going to kill you now, mutt."

"Peeta," I gasp, kicking him, startling him so his hold loosens a little. "Peeta, please. Try to think. I'm not a mutt, I'm Katniss. I love you." If I somehow survive this, my concussion is definitely going to get worse.

The mutt part of him slams the pillow on my face, but I can see the real Peeta is thinking, perhaps struggling against the darkness. It's probably too late, though. I'm dying. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

My eyes start slipping shut. _I love you Peeta. _At least I'll see Prim, and my father.

Just as all the air has escaped me and I'm accepting my end, the pillow miraculously loosens and I feel Peeta's hands go slack.

I shoot up, choking and sputtering, coughing and inhaling all at the same time. Peeta's staring at me, a horrified expression on his face. His eyes have changed back to their beautiful blue, the color I've missed so much.

But the color that broke me because it wasn't there when I needed it.

"Katniss?" he asks.

Tears fill my eyes, and I rush out of the room as I sob escapes my mouth. I run back through town, barefoot, and through the woods. Before I know it, I'm in the small cement house by the pond, the shack where I met Bonnie and Twill all those months ago. Are they even still alive? No, they're probably dead, like all the others I've killed.

It's my fault.

I wonder if Peeta cares enough to come after me. Probably not. Maybe he's realized I am to blame, and how horrible I really am. I didn't directly kill his family, or on purpose, but I might as well have. I caused the bombing that killed them.

It's my fault.

Did I not do enough to help Peeta? Am I to blame for the fact that he stayed a mutt for almost two weeks? I think so.

It's my fault.


	3. Chapter 3

Will It Break You?

Chapter 3

I'm screaming. I sit and scream into my shirt, much like I did when the Quarter Quell was announced. Tears run down my face as I shriek and curse and cry. It's not fair, it's not fair.

Hours later, when I'm dizzy and my throat is too raw and dry to hardly speak, I realize it's dark outside and Sae will be worried. Haymitch assigned her to make me dinner tonight, as I'm in a disorganized state.

I manage to get to my feet and stagger through the woods and reach my house. Sae opens the door just as I reach for the knob.

"I was worried sick!" she sputters as I push past her into the house. I slump at the table and put my head in my hands, pushing my temples against the pounding headache I have. I mutter a "sorry," as she huffs and goes back to the stove to tend whatever she's cooking, but honestly I'm not and I'm also not hungry at all.

A few minutes pass and Sae sets a bowl of soup in front of me, then leaves. But it goes cold, as I sit there and stare blankly out the window, at Peeta's house.

What is he doing? Knowing him, he is most likely beating himself up for what he did. Even though it's not his fault, he thinks it it. Why is he so selfless? Why can't he just blame me, and then I'll admit it is my fault and things will be so much easier to face. It's harder to hide behind things, when someone doesn't blame you and they should.

Peeta should. I deserve it.

I slip a jacket on and weakly walk over to his house. The hunger's gone away, and I'm just left with a horrible empty feeling, a shaky stupor. I know this probably will worry Peeta even more, but I don't care.

I tap quietly on his door and hear a voice say from far inside, "Come in."

I walk in to find Peeta crouched in his living room, his hands clenching his blond hair angrily.

"Katniss?" he says wearily, looking up as I sit next to him.

I offer him a small smile and say, "How are you?"

He sighs. "Awful. Katniss, I am so sorry. I-I almost killed you. I can't believe it. Why don't you hate me?"

I bite my lip. I won't break, not again. Not after all I've been through.

"I could never hate you, Peeta. Not after everything you've done for me."

His eyes fall to my neck, and they widen as he takes in the bruises on my face and body, the distanced look in my enlarged pupils. "Oh, God, Katniss, did I do this to you?"

"You couldn't help it, P-"

"This is all my fault." he says, an agonized expression on his face. "I can't believe I-"

"No," I cut in, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Please. You'll just hurt me more if you think it's your fault."

"But-"

"It's okay." I tell him, and that moment as I see the pain in his eyes I realize that we're both still broken. We need each other.

I lean forward and hug him. He stiffens, and I freeze, scared he's gone back into mutt version. But then he relaxes and slowly wraps his arms around me. It's comforting, having his arms holding me again, even if the circumstances aren't exactly what I want.

He pulls away and looks at me. "You haven't been eating." he says sadly.

I flinch and close my eyes. "I didn't have much reason to."

I feel his thumb trace one of the circles under my eyes. "You didn't sleep, either."

"I had more nightmares than usual." I tell him.

He sighs again. "Will you stay for dinner?"

"Of course."

I sit at his kitchen table as he fixes bread and soup. He brings it to the table, and it's silent after I mutter a thank you. When I pick at my food, he looks upset.

"Katniss, you have to eat. Please."

I nod and force myself to eat the whole meal. It doesn't taste like anything to me-I'm too distracted to pay attention-but since it's Peeta's cooking, I know it must be good.

I stand to leave. "Thank you," I say.

"You're welcome," he says quietly as I near the door. "Katniss?"

I turn. "What?"

"Will you come and get me if you have any nightmares?"

I hesitate. "Maybe..."

"Please?" His expression is desperate, and I realize how rude I'm being. He thinks I'm turning him down because I'm angry with him.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry. I will," I say quickly. Then I slip out his door and head back to my house and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I have a lot of awful nightmares that night, but the most vivid and horrible is the one with President Snow.

I'm being suffocated with roses that smell like blood. They're everywhere-in my throat, squeezing my body. Prim stands at a distance, screaming in pain as Snow stabs her. Her blood runs in little rivers, swirling around my feet. Suddenly, she falls limp and Snow disappears. I run to her and desperately shake her dead body.

"PRIM!" I scream. "PRIM! NO! PLEASE!"

I shoot up in my bed, sobbing. I gag and choke, trying to rid myself of bloody roses that aren't really there. I sit and cry, wishing so desperately that Prim was here. I should've died instead of her. She was innocent and sweet, I am evil and selfish. I've killed so many people; I deserve to be blown to bits, not her.

"Prim." I cry, pulling my knees to my chest and pressing my face into them-hiding.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. I don't want to go get Peeta; I am not going to. I don't need his help, not at all.

I sit, miserable, until the sun rises and I am relieved. I change clothes; I'm going hunting today. Grateful for the sunlight, I tromp downstairs and find that Peeta has left me a loaf of bread. I almost feel guilty, because he is bound to know I had nightmares. He must've heard my screams, or even not-I always have nightmares and he knows that. Yet he still brings me bread.

As I grab my hunting bag and walk down the street past the bakery, I catch him looking out at me with a sad expression on his face.


End file.
